“Robbery’s one thing. Trust me, you don’t want murder charges brought against you.”
“Too late.”
Isabel registered multiple things at once. The hitch in Ben’s measured approach, the slight compression of his lips, the almost imperceptible movement of the thief’s finger.
She wasn’t ready to die.
Lifting her foot, she brought her boot heel down on the gunman’s toe, then seized the hand over her mouth and sank her teeth into the dirty flesh. The thief howled in pain and jerked free. Isabel dived to the ground, knees protesting the hard jolt, and tried to scramble out of the way.
A piercing shot rang out. Someone grunted. A second bullet whizzed through the air.
A heavy thunk behind her registered, followed by the clink of coins. The money bag! Boots striking the hard-packed earth faded into nothingness.
A strong hand gripped her shoulder, and she flinched.
“Isabel, it’s me.” Hands and knees in the dirt, she slowly lifted her head. The deputy extended his hand. “You all right?”
“Fine.” Her heart rattling in her chest, she allowed him to assist her up. Brushing the debris from her skirts, she said, “You’ve a fine sense of timing, Deputy. There wasn’t a gun pointed to my head until you interfered.”
“Your effusive gratitude is making me blush, Miss Flores,” he said wryly. “I saved your life.”
“I’m the one who distracted him.” She squinted into the shadowed forest clinging to the hulking mountains flanking Gatlinburg. “Aren’t you going to pursue him?”
He ambled over and hefted the large money sack. Faltering, he used the building’s facade for support. “I don’t think that’s a wise idea.”
Isabel had started to gather her belongings. All but one of the prized oranges had been spared. At the odd sigh in Ben’s voice, she straightened and scrutinized him. He didn’t look right.
“Why not?”
His eyes, which in daylight were the color of sunlight striking sea-green glass, gleamed in the darkness. “Because I’m likely to bleed out before I catch him.”
He indicated his upper right arm.
“You’ve been shot?” Guilt punched a hole in her annoyance. Here she’d been berating him when he was in pain.
“Feels like a flesh wound.” He inclined his head toward the bank. “Let me return this money to its rightful place, and I’ll escort you home.”
“You have to see Doc.”
“Later.” He disappeared inside the bank for a brief minute, then used his master keys to lock it up tight. When he reached her, he removed the neckerchief from around his throat. “Tie this off for me, will you?”
“I can get home by myself,” she protested, concern for the Debonair Deputy at odds with her usual antipathy. “You need to get that wound cleaned and stitched.”
“I happen to know that Doc Owens is out at the Barton farm, assisting in the delivery of their latest child. The sheriff has a steady hand and a cast-iron stomach, but he’s taken Allison and the kids to Norfolk for the month. Besides, you heard the thief. You’re a liability. Who’s to say he’s not lying in wait, intending on following you and making sure you can’t talk?”
Suppressing a shudder, she seized the cloth and quickly wrapped it around Ben’s thick biceps.
He grimaced. “A shame about the coat. My mother gave it to me before I took this job. It’s kept me warm through four Tennessee winters.”
“Our winters are typically mild.”
He flashed a smile, the lopsided one that had slain countless hearts. “Not compared with my hometown in southern Georgia. Besides, according to the almanac, we’re in for more snow than usual this year.”
“So get it patched. Nicole Darling can have it repaired in less time than it takes you to make a girl swoon.” Isabel snatched up a forgotten sachet of cloves.
“When was the last time that happened?” he challenged, laugh lines crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“I don’t keep detailed records of your romantic exploits, but I seem to recall hearing about Edith Pulaski at the harvest festival. And Josie Strutin embarrassed herself during the annual August social.”
“Edith fainted because she was ill with a fever. As for Josie, I choose to believe she was overwhelmed by the prospect of singing a solo in front of a crowd and not because I was nearby.” He started for the boardwalk, his stride even and decisive, though he seemed to hold his injured arm close to his body. “Did you walk or ride?”
“I walked.”
“You can ride with me, then.”
She put her shaky legs in motion, unhappy with the prospect of spending any amount of time with him. Isabel went out of her way to avoid the shallow charmer. Ben MacGregor’s reputation was a two-sided coin. While a respected lawman who’d committed his life to protecting Gatlinburg’s citizens, he was also a confirmed bachelor who trifled with women’s emotions. Isabel couldn’t respect a man like that, not after living with the consequences of her father’s repeated infidelities.
He led her to his grand sorrel horse whose copper-red coat mimicked Ben’s hair. One of the most recognizable animals in town, his name was Blaze. Ben mounted first and, taking her basket, let her use his good arm to pull herself up behind him. During the first part of the slow journey, she utilized her leg muscles for balance. She soon tired, however.
“You can put your arms about my waist,” he quipped over his shoulder. “I promise I won’t get ideas.”
“Like I’d ever be interested in you,” she muttered.
His deep, husky laugh mocked her. “Every man in town is aware of your aversion to romance.”
Isabel didn’t care that she was considered a prude or that folks whispered she was destined to be an old maid. Better that than they think she shared her father’s lack of morality.
The deserted lane on which they traveled crested a small incline. During the descent, Isabel had no choice but to use Ben as a support. He said nothing when she slid her arms around his waist. His body heat seeped into her, helping stave off the chill December air. Unaccustomed to this degree of closeness to a man, she became acutely aware of the play of muscles across his broad back, the solid leanness of his flanks and his flat stomach. He wasn’t tall—average, really—but he had a stocky, honed build.
Thankfully, her family’s property was situated only a mile from the heart of town. The gristmill and stream edged the woods to their left. A modest-size clearing surrounded by more woods contained the cabin, barn and outbuildings, space for a vegetable garden, and pasture for their livestock.
When he halted Blaze beside her porch, Isabel wasted no time scrambling to solid ground.
“Thank you for the ride.” She stretched out her hand for the
